Join the Club
by LizzieV
Summary: Helyka. Spoilers for "Vendetta." Complete?
1. Vendetta

A/N: This chapter takes place in, around, and on the episode "Vendetta," much of the dialogue belongs to it. Don't own "Warehouse 13" (trust me, you'd know if I did) and certainly no funds being transferred into the bank acct through this activity...

* * *

**"Vendetta" **

Myka needed to get away for a moment and regroup. Standing in front of Dickinson's casket made reality crash down around her. Her time at the Warehouse, however wacky and unpredictable, had made the Secret Service agent a little soft. Yes, she and Pete found themselves in often harrowing situations, but miracles and vigilance seemed to form a protective shield around the agents. Dickinson's death made it dangerous again. He had a desk job for geez sake. She didn't even feel the chill emanating from the grey slab where she sat, instead Agent Bering was lost in thought looking over the serene landscape of the National cemetery.

"It's a bloody rotten business." The cool British tone instantly shook her from her reverie. She turned quickly, automatically on the defensive.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Agent Bering didn't conceal her displeasure in seeing the wanted woman. She digested Wells explanation of also looking for the chain that killed Dickinson, even allowed the woman to rant about the zero progress made in her quest to be reinstated.

"I'm not questioning your value, I'm curious about your motives." Myka couldn't question her value. Myka standing here breathing was a testament to H.G.'s value. It should have broken her heart to hear about Wells' struggle to adjust to the twenty-first century. But it was the same line she'd heard before, and so many questions lingered. "I'm going to need more than that; I'm going to need more than 'she doesn't like the world.'"

She needed to know why she was Bronzed. And it did break her heart to hear H.G. sit down and tell her why. "I supposed I hoped to awaken in a different world. A better one."

"The Bronzer was your time machine." Profound recognition colored Myka's statement.

"The closest I could come." H.G. practically whispered the last bit, amazing herself at how forthcoming she was being with the younger woman.

"I'll talk to Artie." All the resentment had seeped from Agent Bering's voice as she sat next to H.G. All that was left was an intimate reminder that Helena didn't have to win her over anymore.

"Thank you." She passed her the envelope. "This is how to reach me in D.C." H.G. stood up from her seat on the cold concrete bench. Before leaving she paused and made eye contact with the other woman. "Myka. I'm sorry about your friend." Wells made a quick getaway, knowing that if she stayed a second longer she risked being discovered by the rest of the Warehouse 13 staff. Or worse, hug Myka Bering and never let go.

* * *

Artie had given Myka and Pete a little time to gather their thoughts after the funeral back at the hotel. Myka went to her room and crashed on the full bed, trench and all. She cursed Artie silently for his miser-ness, her feet dangling off the edge.

Myka realized someone had had to tell Dickinson's family about his death. Would they have a lot of questions? Would they have requested to see the autopsy report revealing the extent of his injuries? Or would the blow of having him dead allow their grief-stricken minds to mutely accept his fate at face value. It's not like their original plan when they joined the Secret Service; taking the proverbial bullet for the President was something that couldn't be covered up. What would they tell her friends and family if and when it happened to her?

She took a deep breath as she stared at the ceiling, casually reaching into her pockets. "What the hell?" she whispered to no one in particular and she held what looked like a watch battery in one hand and a note in the other. She read the note first: "Any use for the grappler? Myka, I remind you to trust me. –H"

She looked at the shiny bit of technology in her other hand. H.G. had no trouble finding them transmitter or not, perhaps it would prove handy to keep this around a little longer. She slipped it back into her trench pocket, forgetting it for the time being. Her cell began to ring from its perch on the rickety nightstand.

"There's been another death." Kate Logan told Agent Bering where to meet them and hung up.

* * *

_Back at the NSA..._

Kate Logan loved her job and loved solving murders. But hacking into the NSA mainframe was something she didn't think her supervisors would approve of. She'd leave the troublemaking to Pete's team of rogue government workers. The less questions the better. She exited, leaving Myka and Artie huddled over the computer.

Myka's heart began to race when Pete fed them what he'd found on the security footage. She wasn't as surprised to see H.G. entering the building as she was shocked to see her smug expression as she practically waved at the camera. Wells knew they'd come across this, was her confident expression devious or just proving she could be on the right track.

Artie had begun to rant. He had this conspiracy theory that H.G. was somehow after him alone, trying to bring him down for whatever reason. Pete and Myka had talked about it after the incident with Godfred's ladel when H.G. had first reappeared. She was a symbol for MacPherson. Worse, a symbol of his death.

"Look maybe she was here for other reasons." Myka didn't even seem to believe what she was saying.

"Like what, applying for a job?" He was being unreasonable, it happened when Artie felt threatened.

"No, like hunting down whatever artifact that did this so she could prove herself and rejoin the Warehouse—" Oh crap, she did not just say that.

"Myka, how do you know that?" Artie crept closer to her, like a father trying to extract an explanation from a troublesome daughter. No sudden movements.

"I—may have—spoken to her." She confessed two octaves too high.

"Oh man! You've been talking to H.G.?" Pete's incredulity was equal parts admiration at getting away with it and sympathy for what he knew Artie would do to his partner.

"I was waiting for the right time." Myka was finding it harder and harder to come up with excuses for her secret-keeping.

"This ain't it." Read: never a good time for that confession. Ever.

Artie started getting personal. Angry accusations and berating that Myka was trying to block out. As much of a crank as he always seemed to be, she loved Artie and it was disheartening to hear him say such things.

"I know where she is!" She grabbed the envelope and barely had time to screech out "the Archer hotel" before Artie snatched the address from her hands.

"I guess we're going." Myka was still holding her breath.

"Yeah." Pete intoned.

"Pete, hold up a sec." Myka grabbed her partner by the arm near the doorway. "I just want to say thank you for that."

"Myka, you seriously need to get it together. H.G. equals baddie. Even if you don't believe that, Artie is on a rampage and you need to start falling on his side of this argument." Pete sighed and put his hands on his hips. "I can't guarantee your safety otherwise."

"A bit dramatic, are we Pete?" Myka smirked until Pete gave her a "do you really want to press your luck?" glare. They quickly left to catch up with the bossman.

* * *

_The Archer hotel..._

They entered guns ablazin' and Myka had a fleeting worry that Artie might get trigger happy if they did find H.G. in the room. Luckily, it was empty. The phone began to ring and H.G.'s lilting voice filled the room. Myka had to roll her eyes at the other woman's presumptuousness.

Artie was about to hang up, hearing enough of H.G.'s requests for "quid pro quo." Myka was spurred into action, knowing intuitively that Wells' stubbornness could be as detrimental as Artie's own.

"Artie, wait! Maybe she has some information." Myka had to practically yell the last part to be heard over Artie's mumbled denigrates of murderousness.

"You don't know that!" Myka needed to change courses and fast if she was going to prevent him from hanging up. "Artie it's a lead. We _need_ leads." Artie ceded, and it seems as if H.G. did too. The team plus one figured out that maybe someone was after Artie after all.

"He must be going after your family." H.G. reckoned inopportunely out loud.

"That's all the 'quid pro quo' you're going to get." He snidely commented as he slammed the receiver down. Artie began to explain his checkered past with Alexander, his former Soviet contact. They knew what their next destination would be.

As Pete and Artie exited the room, Myka doubled back and hurried to the pad of hotel paper on the bedside table and quickly scrawled: "You can owe me." She double-underlined the "owe me" part.

What was Myka getting herself into? There would be time to think of that later. To Russia they went.

* * *

_Moscow..._

She couldn't help but to follow Myka with her eyes, that's how Lattimer got the jump on her. She turned to find the Tesla pointed at her midsection. A situation she was quickly becoming used to. She'd expected Agent Lattimer to be angrier given their history and her deception of the young man, but he questioned her calmly instead. As calmly as you can be holding a Tesla.

She slowly revealed her tracking receiver and it surprised her to find out Artie had been taken. Then Myka was beside her; the next seconds were a jumble of discussion.

"We could use your help." Myka's direct comment brought H.G. back.

"Wait, Myka, no. Artie would blow a gasket." Had his partner lost her mind?

"We need help and she's here—" Myka turned back to the other woman, "and for the record, I knew that you slipped this in my pocket at the cemetery—" Myka handed her the transmitter, smiling sideways.

"I thought you'd know that I—" She never underestimated the intelligence of the curly-haired beauty before her.

"I knew that'd you think I'd know—" Myka immediately responded, their heads practically touching.

Latimer bit his tongue against the "get a room" comment he really wanted to make and settled with a loud sigh and an "alright" until he was once again acknowledged as being present in the same universe as the two women. He filled in H.G. on their theory that Alexander was the one that nabbed their boss. H.G. countered by pulling out Alexander's death certificate. They needed a new plan of action, that's for sure.

* * *

_Abandoned Building..._

Once they had so prudently adapted H.G.'s receiver to hone in on the transmitter in Artie's glasses (thank you, Claudia Donovan), they quickly made their way to and through one of the many rundown Soviet-era storage facilities. Knowing Artie to be close, they split apart to search more thoroughly. It warmed Myka's hear t to hear Pete tell H.G. to be careful before they went their separate ways. She welcomed Pete to H.G.'s defense, that way she didn't stand alone. It still didn't stop her from chiding him to hurry his ass up.

H.G. came across an unconscious Artie, seizing her chance to get this man unchained and on her side. Her time as a Warehouse apprentice should have led Wells to believe that nothing was ever that simple. Artie suddenly regained awareness to find his worst nightmare in front of him. H.G. shushed him and assured him everything would be okay. He shook his head and whispered "behind you." Before she knew it, she was on the floor cold. Literally.

H.G. knew this would end badly if she couldn't keep it together. She tried everything to stay coherent, finally settling on thinking warm thoughts. Eventually she was able to make it to her weapon and get off a shot at Artie's chain before falling into oblivion…the next thing she remembered was Artie forcing something into her arms.

It wasn't long before Myka and Pete heard the gunshot and went running through the gate they had finagled open. After rushing down a rickety flight of stairs they barged onto the scene as the still-unidentified villain made the move to use Torquemada's chain. Myka was frozen in place (not literally) at the tableau before her. Pete's reflexes were a little more on point as he fired his Tesla before the man could cause any serious harm.

"Well, that wasn't hard." She couldn't tell if her partner was being sarcastic or not but more importantly, Myka didn't know whether to be more ecstatic that Artie was crouched over H.G.'s body protectively or that the older woman seemed to be just fine.

One thing Myka Bering did know for sure was that the plane trip back to the office would be a long one.

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A/N2: You can most definitely story alert this one if you'd like. I envision at least six chapters if not more. And, remember dear friends, reviews most definitely help with the creative writing process (read: quicker updates).


	2. Agent Bering's Report

A/N: "I think this line's mostly filler." - Willow

* * *

**"Agent Bering's Report"**

_Excerpt:_

Recent Warehouse cases have highlighted former Agent Wells value to the continued operation of our department. Being aware of her checkered past makes the heroic actions taken by former Agent Wells all the more notable. On a recent expedition to identify and secure Godfred's ladel, Ms. Wells expertly and decisively created an antidote to come to the dire aid of Warehouse assistant Claudia Donovan. _She also saved my life with no regard to losing her own._

…

Her ability to problem solve in a timely fashion is admirable and absolutely necessary when it comes to the locating, deactivating and proper storage of artifacts. I respectfully request that former Agent Helena G. Wells be reinstated to full and active Warehouse agent status to the benefit of all involved.

* * *

A/N2: Full version of Agent Bering's report available for download on iTunes. :-)


	3. Aftermath

**"Aftermath"**

Myka stormed into the control room, Pete hot on her heels.

"How could you? You turned her in." Artie was at the overlook window and Agent Bering had no qualms about sidling right up to him. "You handed her over to the Regents without considering she might be a _valuable_ asset and—" Pete tried to reign his partner in before _she_ was Bronzed. Or worse, fired.

It was at this point that the Decision Maker walked in (or had he always been standing there?) and began explaining the process with which Warehouse agents are selected. No one quite remembers what he said, him being a rather intimidating sort of man.

Myka found her voice again, though barely above an awed whisper. "You make the decisions?"

"Some of them, yes," was the Decision Maker's cryptic response.

"Has she been bronzed then?" Myka didn't know if she wanted the answer to that question, fearing the worst. The Decision Maker took a long, inquisitive moment to stare at Agent Bering. She felt like he could see right through her exterior to the part of herself where her regard towards Helena was locked away.

"Ms. Wells" the Decision Maker managed to speak it as a command and request at the same time. Myka gasped audibly. Helena strolled from her designated waiting area, hands behind her back to prevent the lot of them from seeing them shake. "This is thanks in no small part to Agent Bering's report."

Dropping that bombshell, Myka immediately turned to Artie to see his reaction. She readily found she didn't need to be looking at him: he started fuming audibly right away. Luckily, the Decision Maker's presence was keeping him in check for the time being. But just as easily as he had appeared, Mr. Kosan was gone.

Helena, unaware of the seething rage just below Mr. Nelson's exterior, immediately extended her hand to Myka in gratitude knowing she was the true reason she was standing there and not encased in bronze. Pete was gracious enough to shake her hand as well even though he was still reeling from the shock. And then there was Artie, not only refusing her proffered shake of good will but verbally spitting on it as he stomped out of the room. Myka unfortunately followed.

* * *

Artie left the Warehouse umbilicus quickly, leaving Myka standing in shock from the hurtful things he'd said about Helena. Over the months she had built a solid working relationship with her supervisor, at times even considering it a quirky sort of friendship. That's why it stung all the more to hear his undying contempt for the newest agent. She subconsciously hoped his ire wasn't somehow compounded by her subversion in not telling him about the report she had submitted. It would be that much harder convincing Artie to trust H.G. if she herself had lost his.

And how Helena tried! Her actions up to this point had not only been out of concern for the welfare of the other Warehouse personnel but to prove to Jefe Nelson that she could be counted on. Myka couldn't harp on Artie's temper tantrum, she should really check and see how everyone else was doing. But first she would take a long, contemplative walk around the property.

* * *

_Back at the Inn…_

Myka made her way back to Leena's after her leisurely getaway, arriving with a clearer mind and a happier mood. She walked into the sitting room to find the girls sitting around the dining room table drinking tea. Myka looked down at her watch and saw it was a quarter past four. _So soon they fell into British ways._

"You should be dead then. Anything longer than 1.22 minutes with the Titantic driftwood—well, let's just say 'iceberg, right ahead.'" Claudia's macabre ways were so endearing.

Helena just raised an eyebrow at Claudia's declaration of doom as Myka took the vacant seat next to her. The "where were you?" was unasked but still apparent. Instead, the newly reinstated Agent finished off her tea and graciously thanked Leena for making it for them. "I was thinking now might be a good time for you to show me to my room?"

"I'm sorry Agent Wells, I wasn't as prepared as I should have been (read: thought you'd never be reinstated) and the renovations of your room are still on-going." Leena had the tact to seem apologetic.

"Leena, you do realize this is a bed and breakfast?" Myka questioned, perplexed. "You're telling me no bedrooms are available?" The empath sheepishly confirmed.

"I thought the Warehouse was in the habit of archiving one's room. Shouldn't mine still be stored?" H.G. was nothing if not a problem-solver.

"It was…disinfected." Leena quickly began to clear the teacups and saucers away, hoping that would put an end to the uncomfortable conversation.

"So, Pine Sol-y fresh?" Claudia asked, hoping what she thought Leena meant by "disinfected" was not actually the case.

"Not exactly." Leena confirmed.

"Look, I'll be just fine bunking in the front living quarters until more permanent board can be arranged." Helena wanted to make a good impression her first few minutes on the job and put an end to the awkward situation Leena was suffering through. Of course her previous quarters had been searched, seized, and—by all accounts—incinerated decades ago.

"It shouldn't be more than a couple of days." Leena breathed a sigh of relief.

"I don't snore." Myka chimed in before she realized what she was doing. "You can sleep with me. I mean, share my bed—room. Just until—" Myka thought she should really quit talking now. And why was it so warm in here?

"A week, tops." Leena said simultaneously. Judging by Myka's aura, this could be fun.

"A little bit of Stockholm syndrome?" Claudia mumbled under her breath.

"I don't follow" Helena looked at Ms. Donovan.

"Neither do I." Myka remarked, waiting for a response. Instead Claudia let out a wide-eyed "jinkies jk jk" before quickly exiting the room. H.G and Myka shook their heads. "Why don't we just go up and try to get you settled?"

"Excellent notion." Helena followed Myka up the staircase, gripping the banister a little tighter than necessary.

* * *

"This is all a bit overwhelming." Helena plunked down unceremoniously onto the bed, fingering one of the four posts.

"This is overwhelming? Helena you woke up in a world where flying in an airplane is commonplace and telephones fit in your pocket. And _this_," Myka motioned about the room, "is what you find overwhelming." She sat down and wrapped her fingers around the older woman's forearm, "you are a puzzle."

"I do not disagree with that statement." H.G. smiled brightly, relishing her mysterious aire.

"Double negative." Myka tilted her head sideways and grinned at her companion.

"Excuse me, I was the idea maker. Not the author." H.G. narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps the couch downstairs would be a better sleeping arrangement. At least I'm assured it wouldn't be correcting my grammar." She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "the couch wouldn't be correcting my grammar, would it?" Myka smiled and assured her that technology had yet to find use for snooty furniture.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Myka, we're about to be bedmates. Yes, you can ask me a question."

"How did you stay alive back in the Russian warehouse?" She saw the puzzlement in Helena's eyes. "I mean, I saw the research Claudia was talking about too. The Titanic plank works pretty fast and according to Artie you were writhing on the floor for quite a while before you were able to get to your gun." Myka was trying to work out an answer on her own, "does Bronzing offer some sort of residual healing effect or something?"

"No healing effect that I'm aware of." Helena blushed: a completely new and unexpected reaction, much to Myka's amusement. "I really don't think you want to know the answer to your query."

"Oh now I _definitely_ want to know." Myka nudged H.G. with her shoulder. "Come on then."

"I thought of you. The way I stayed warm was to think of you." A normal person would look the other way shamefully. Helena faced Myka head on.

"Huh?"

"Would you like me to draw you a diagram?"

"You catch on with snarky responses mighty fast for being away for so long." Myka made it sound like H.G. had just come back from ninety-days at rehab or something.

"Being around Pete and dear Claudia will do that to a person."

"You thought of me?" The "me" was practically inaudible it was so shrill. Myka even brought her thumb up, poking herself in the chest to emphasize the word.

"I was so cold, Myka. I was surely to die on that dirty, dirty floor with all my dreams unrealized." Helena brought the conversation to a more serious turn. "Little did I know that it would have made Artie's dream come true."

"Don't say that, he'll come around." Myka squeezed the flesh still under her grasp. "He still has problems accepting me and Pete. Especially when he's heavily medicated—you thought about me?" One word came to the Brit's mind: incorrigible.

Helena sighed. This was already pretty damn awkward; why not make it more so? She took both of Myka's hands into her own. "Yes. I especially focused on the time where I grabbed you from certain doom, pulling you against my body as I carried us to safety with my grappler."

"I've thought about that too." Myka added quietly, averting her eyes.

"Of your own volition or while experiencing the effects of the Titanic driftwood?" Helena was still a little rusty with intimate moments and tried to back away slowly with a bit of humor.

"Wow, I've never had such a teasing roommate. This will be fun." Myka rolled her eyes.

"Have you ever had a 'roommate?'" The word stuck strangely in Helena's vernacular.

"For two weeks in college. Then she moved in her with her boyfriend at the fraternity house. The next year my scholarship covered a single room." Myka sighed self-consciously, "I don't think I'm cut out to have a roommate."

"I have a feeling we'll make it work." Helena had already had such a long and stressful day, she decided to throw caution to the wind. "Do you mind if I ask a favor?"

"We're about to be bedmates. Yes, you can ask me a favor." Myka mocked good-naturedly in a horrible English accent.

"Funny you should bring that up, I'm actually feeling a bit tired," H.G. examined her hands. She threw in for good measure, "and chilly…" This was harder than she originally anticipated. There were a few moments of second-guessing her intentions, but Helena really needed this. "Would you mind lying down with me for a moment —" Myka knew Helena G. Wells only as this larger-than-life, confident woman. Never would she believe the pleading need evident in the other woman's eyes unless she was witnessing it firsthand.

Myka nodded her assent and the two women climbed onto the four-poster bed, foregoing the covers to rest on top of the duvet. They settled in—face to face—and instinctively Myka's arm rested across Helena's side. She didn't seem to mind.

"Myka?" The younger woman could easily get used to her name being whispered in that dignified inflection.

"Mmm-hmm?"

"Thank you for trusting me. I do owe you." H.G.'s eyes fell closed under the weight of the day. Soon after her breathing evened out and Myka was privy to the most gorgeous and peaceful face she'd been near in a long while. Silently she shimmied closer until her knees and thighs were flush against her companion's. Myka wrapped her arms around the sleeping woman's back and placed a gentle kiss against the smooth plane of her forehead.

"This can be considered payment in full." Myka whispered before closing her own eyes and falling into a restful sleep.


End file.
